


Grief

by anathemafen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dragon Age Quest: Protect Clan Lavellan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Lavellan, Protective Solas, and there is an actual reaction, in which Clan Lavellan dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathemafen/pseuds/anathemafen
Summary: Clan Lavellan is destroyed and Solas tries to comfort the Inquisitor after she is told.





	Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Might add onto this at a later date...

The air was so thick with anxiety their breaths became hitched in their throats. The missive was read and then read again, each word tightening their chests with the apprehension of knowing what was – what _had_ to come next.

Leliana had been the one to suggest bringing Solas in, Josephine had argued for Dorian and Cullen had reluctantly suggested Cole. But the elf who held her heart came to them first, fists clenched and eyes stormy. They hadn’t the time to ask how he had found out.

“It is true then?” he demanded upon seeing their faces, crumpled postures and strained eyes. Their silence was confirmation enough. For a moment it looked as if Solas was going to hurl his magic at them, rend flesh from bone and level the War Room. But then his jaw tensed and his head shook as he looked away, sorrow replacing rage, wrath tagging out for grief.

“We thought it would be best if you were here when she is informed,” Leliana’s lilting voice spoke up, the tiniest of wavers betraying her own inner turmoil.

“Of course,” Solas snapped and shook his head again.

When he looked back up at them his eyes were hard, and his lip curled as he growled more than spoke, “She will forgive whichever one of you gave her the imprudent advice – do _not_ presume I will.”

The words were not issued by an unassuming apostate elf, neutral and polite.

No, they were dripping with venom and punctuated with a warning, dark, dangerous and full of _dread._

Three pairs of eyes narrowed at Solas but guilt pushed down any admonishing responses and the matter was quickly abandoned as the door announced a newcomer.

Inquisitor Lavellan had a slight flush to her cheeks and a lingering smile on her lips that slowly dissipated as her eyes fell upon the solemn occupants of the room. Her brow was knitted and she crossed her arms standing alert, body adjusting naturally to its new environment – tense and cold… wrong.

As if by instinct her gaze found Solas’, a question in her eyes, but for once it was not one he wished to answer.

“ _Ma lath_?” she asked him, taking a tentative step forward, the last one that would not be burdened with a broken heart. 

Solas went to her, hands encompassing her own and a fear began to settle in her eyes at the certainty of ill tidings. He placed a soft kiss to her forehead and rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles in a soothing manner.

But it was Leliana to break the news, a small clearing of her throat and an intake of breath before she began to speak. Rather than report as the spymaster, her melodious voice faltered as the Inquisitor’s friend.

With each word Lavellan’s eyes grew wider and wider until they began shining instead, tears sitting at the precipice, waiting for the blink that would see them fall. But she wiped them away before they could and when Leliana stopped, they hardened.

“Say it,” Lavellan whispered, a harsh sound that was more plea than demand. 

Leliana paused, hesitant and with eyes full of sympathy but she bowed her head and said the words the Inquisitor already knew but still needed to hear. A confirmation to carve out any hope left in her heart.

“Clan Lavellan has been destroyed.”

The last word was left hanging in the air, weighing them all down, an oppressive force that was push push pushing until Lavellan’s grief finally broke through. 

And it was palpable.

Her face crumpled and her shoulders fell, and the Inquisitor was a small thing then, the tenacity she faced calamity with useless in this fight. An enemy she could not take down with her battle prowess or a diplomatic touch.

But Solas caught her before she fell, collapsing under the weight of loss. He wrapped his arms around her and gently lowered them both to the ground. She clung to him, her small fists clenched around his tunic and he felt every sob that wracked her whole frame punctuated with shuddering breaths. He felt every tear that soaked into the fabric of his tunic, scalding the skin underneath, a fleeting but heartrending manifestation of her pain.

Solas wrapped his arms tighter around her, secure and unrelenting. He wanted to be a barrier against her grief, but he was a crippled one - unable to guard against the worst of it, the inner bereavement that had, that was, that would forever be ripping a hole through her heart. It would dig in deep and remain, become an ‘old hurt’ as Cole had called his, distinct and enduring – unfixable.

Her advisors left quietly, respectful of the destruction they had helped to forge, helpless now to counter it with anything useful. Solas didn’t look up to see them go.

Lavellan’s sobs subsided into small hiccups before settling into despondency and uneven breaths, her wet eyelashes blinking rapidly against his neck.

He shifted her gently and looked down into red-rimmed eyes, eyes he had fallen into countless times before, eyes that lit up whenever he greeted her, eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled, eyes that now held a new depth of pain he desperately wished to absorb.

“Vhenan,” he whispered softly, tenderly wiping her face with as gentle a touch as he could muster. He placed his forehead against hers, matching their breaths until hers were no longer coming in too quick, panic pushed away for the time being.

But it would come back, he knew, as would her jagged sobs and impenetrable pain, and he was quick – perhaps too quick – to push down thoughts of when he would not be here to quell it. When he would heap a new layer onto it, carve out his own piece of her heart, of his heart.

But for now…

“ _Min’ar_ ,” he told her softly and stroked her hair as she buried her face into his chest again. _I am here_.


End file.
